The Anatomy of You and Me
by Dinochickennugget
Summary: After the rescue, the Ares 3 crew must deal with the repercussions of what took place. Enter strained relationships, medical drama, and other results they never saw coming.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Breathing. Breathing hurt. The irony of the matter took a moment to sink into the astronaut's exhausted brain. After months of breath being threatened, what with faulty technology, a makeshift rover, and airlock breech, the first fairly safe breaths were agonizing. Each inhale, no matter how shallow, sent burning pains through his cracked ribs.  
He laughed bitterly upon noticing the paradox, then winced, immed glad the crew allowed him privacy for a shower. Both for the obvious reasons, and because they didn't see the pained expression, or general weakness. Yet, anyway.

The shower, first in what felt like forever, was even more exhausting than NASA's most difficult scuba trainings or physical assessments. He could only tolerate a few minutes before exiting the shower stall, wrapping his lower body in a towel, and lying on the floor, feeling close to fainting.  
Then came the worst. A knock on the door.

His stomach dropped as his heart constricted. No! How could it be happening again? His heels slid against the slick ground as he scrambled for traction. His mind registered the drop in air quality as his lungs burned. He was going to die here. His cells would all burst and his insides would shrivel up and die like some lame ass horror flick. He brought his knees to his chest and dug his fingers into their caps; a small red drop not registering as it mixed with the water pooling at his feet, tinting it pink.

Someone was talking; probably the automated "Congrats on making it this far! Now youre gonna die!" message NASA had set !" message NASA had set up in case he screwed something else up.

His breathing got even weaker and he felt his eyes start to droop. He could see stars ironically; bright lights filthering through the dark... An incredibly poetic final sight for an astronaut...  
A firm yet gentle hand closed around his wrist. Somehow, the touch helped find reality to root into. Then, the person attached to said hand spoke. "Mark, its me. You're safe, we got you, you're safe. I just need you to take a few deep breaths for me. Once you calm down, I can get you some more pain medication, okay? Breathe?"

Having had worked in emergency and trauma departments in major cities, Dr. Chris Beck thought he could mask the emotion. Somehow that he didn't understand, other doctors became jaded, uncaring. He could never do that, he was too emotional, too sensitive. He felt each patients pain acutely. But he was at least able to hide that as so not scare the patient further. This was different, somehow. His hand shook while taking the botanist's pulse. He forcefully swallowed the bile that rose into the back of his throat when he finally got a good look at his colleague and friend. He may not have starved entirely to death, but his ribs, even the ones that weren't broken, stuck out at disturbing angles. His face was gaunt, cheeks much too pale and hollow.

Still, he managed a thin, forced smile, for the doctor's sake. "Well, doc? What do you think, am I gonna make it?"

The humor was lost in the situation. "Don't. Don't joke about that, please. You're going to be okay. You have to be..." Together, they floated down to the medical bay. It was a small, yet sterile room in the center of the ship. It had its own artificial gravity, not for the comfort of the patient, but for practicality. Without a gravitational pull, any bodily fluids would float arou and decontaminate other sections of the craft. In earlier missions, it wasn't such a big problem. But for a riskier one like this, NASA wanted to make sure they were able to preform simple operations. So far, it hadn't come to that. To NASA's delight, the goriest thing Dr. Beck had to do was the occasional few stitches and setting a couple sprained fingers. None of it had come close to what he had seen in years of New Orleans and Orlando emergency rooms. now he was facing the most difficult case of the mission.

"So, um, I'm going to need to asses your ribs, um, there isn't anything we can do about keeping them in place. But I still need to check that they aren't affecting any organs. So I'm going have to remove the towel, okay?" He looked down, expecting a sarcastic joke about the situation. All there was was a tiny, pained nod.

"So, I can give you some medicine first. I'm going to give you fentanyl. It's pretty strong, it's okay to fall asleep. I've got you." After removing his friend's towel, everything felt pretty routine. Gathering the supplies, measuring and injecting the medicine, palpating the rib cage and sternum...

He realized that the majority of the fractures were in the lower ribs. This was uncommon, given that those are the mos flexible and least likely to break. But given recent situations, statistics didn seem to mean , the location of the breaks was significant here. It was rare, but occasionally these types of breaks could cause organ damage. As gently as possible, he pressed on the areas above the possible damage, asking how it felt each time. He never got a true reply, until he pressed above the left kidney, and was met by a small spray of bloody vomit.

"That's not good." Mark grimaced and pulled himself to his elbows as Beck handed him a towel to wipe the vomit off his neck and chest. Yeah, earth ladies, TV sure didn't prepare you for all this astronaut sexiness. Puking all over yourself in the med bay. Oh yeah. "There goes my interview on Ellen. Well, Beck, it's been nice knowing you. Tell my-"

"Please stop doing that." Beck paled.

Mark smirked, "Don"t worry. In order to maintain my dignity, I will not vomit all over myself again anytime soon."

Beck shook his head. "Not that, although I agree that you don't need to do that again. Acting like you're going to die. If you could stay alive on that red dust ball, I'm certainly not going to let you die here."

Mark, a self proclaimed "Master of Smartassery," had no idea what to say. He had meant it as a diversion from the face that he had literally puked all over himself, but he realized joking about death around people who had thought he was dead for half a year probably wasn't his smartest idea.

There was nothing left to be said, aside from the diagnosis. "Alright, uh, given the area of the break and your symptoms, I think it's safe to say that you've lacerated a kidney. That's pretty serious, so I want you on total bed rest until you're feeling better. Medically, there isn't much specific treatment Other than symptom management. I'm going to keep you on IV fluids and pain medication. And rest, lots of rest."

The medicine was starting to kick in. "Wanna see the others,," the other man protested with a whine, despite the fact that he was already nearing unconsciousenses. "Wanna go see-" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to get up. In the process, he fell into the doctor's waiting arms. "Feels nice," he mumbled, contently lying his head against Dr. Beck's shoulder. "Stay like this?"

Beck"s face turned bright red and he awkwardly tried to help Mark back onto the bed. His mind was racing a mile a minute, just like his heart beat. It"s just the drugs, he tried to convince himself, pain meds make you say and do crazy stuff. He smirked a little. Well, crazier stuff than usual in Mark"s case.

"So warm," the drugged astronaut murmured against his chest before nuzzling even closer. "Why are you so warm... Space isn"t warm..."

Beck smiled and came to terms with the fact that Mark had no intentions of letting him go. He sat down on the bed and tried to ignore how it would look if Lewis or Martinez were to find them like this. Martinez would have a field day.

"You"re sweater is soft too... Mine smells like something died in it... You don"t smell dead."  
Screw that. He was having a field day with this. Hopefully the pain meds would put him to sleep soon so he would stop embarassing himself. "I almost died and smelled dead... Maybe that"s why my sweater smelled so bad..."

Beck had no idea how to respond to that. Honestly, he didn"t want to think about it. Mark was alive, and that was all that mattered. "But you didn't," he stated, trying to steer Mark"s mind from that dark place.

"Didn"t what? Smell dead? Yeah, pretty sure I did..."

"No, die. You didn"t."

Mark was falling asleep, so Beck barely caught his last words.

"It's cause I"m a botanist. Hell yeah."

The medication only felt like it lasted a matter of hours. When it faded, it brought back an immediate resurgence of pain and panic. First came the sharp burn through his entire left side. Then there was realization that everything was quiet. Too quiet. Earlier, other people could be heard, talking from across the hallways, opening doors, just generally existing. Now, it was much too quiet.

There were only two possibilities. The more logical one, that anxiety wasn't letting him accept, that everyone else was just asleep. And the more terrifying, horrible one that reunion was all a dream.

Luckily, this was NASA. They were pretty smart people. The walls were covered in sticky notes signed with messages from the rest of the crew. Most of them were similar. Notes expressing they were all glad it worked out, that they were wishing him well on the medical issues. But only one seemed to matter at the moment. "Left to get more medicine and to check on available equipment. Lay low, you've been out for days. Be back ASAP. -B." Next to the word 'days,' a number had been written, crossed out, and rewritten several times. Based on that information, he assumed that medicine and fatigue had kept him out for at least four days.

As if on a cue, the silence was broken by a familiar sound: The doctor and commander were arguing. It wasn't as though there was any open hostility between the two. NASA wouldn't have put them on the same mission if that was the case. Rather, they were both extremely passionate and dedicated to their jobs, and oftentimes, the difficult tasks of one job would overlap with the other.

"I'm just saying, Commander, one of the first things they tell us in medical school is transparency. I'm under oath. I have a patient here, a very sick patient, and I don't have the equipment I need to treat him. Of course I'll try everything, but I need to be honest on the prognosis."

"And I understand that. But as mission commander, I'm responsible for the over-all wellbeing of my crew. That includes mental well-being. This is a situation where, if we are just letting nature run its course, saying so can cause more damage, especially after what happened."

"But that's exactly what I mean. 'Possible' doesn't seem to mean anything anymore. Please, commander, with all due respect, I have to disagree. We need to be honest about the seriousness of this illness, but we can't cover it up. And I'll make sure to say that I'm doing everything I can."

For once, emotion won over the seemingly-hardened Navy veteran. She nodded and sighed. "Your experiment schedule is cleared, and I'll reassign your housekeeping duties. Do whatever you need to do."

Thanking her, Dr. Beck excused himself, gathered up the supplies he was looking for, and reentered the room.

Back in emergency rooms on earth, he would never have been the one to deliver this diagnosis. He would be the one to initially take care of the patient with initial symptoms, sure. He would be the one to try to get the feverish child to stop vomiting, or to start a chest tube and oxygen therapy for an older patient. But after the treatments to stabilize them, a specialist would take over. Here, as the only one with an MD, there was no other choice.

"Um..." He took a deep breath and tried to swallow back the welling tears. "So, the blood test I ran earlier? I want to try again. Because I'm really hoping that I made a mistake."

There was no reply. Only a silent understanding, almost an urging to continue.

"NASA wanted a full hormone profile. They were worried about how increased radiation might affect the human thyroid, so... Anyway, there's this hormone called FSH. There are only two situations where it shows up in humans. Pregnancy, and testicular cancer."

There was an awkward moment of quiet. "And last I checked, I'm a guy, so..."

The doctor swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I'm- I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, when the results of the second blood test came back as the same and NASA responded what to do next, Beck floated in to the general laboratory to go through the medicine that was a available. Logically, he realized that all of what they had was intended for an otherwise healthy person who just had a small injury or ordinary, everyday illness. Nothing they had was to the caliber of what they would need.

Luckily, NASA sent not only the retail name of the drug, but it's chemical makeup. It wasn't made of anything they didn't have access to, just carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. And fortunately, they also had the brilliant mind of the best chemist the European Space Agency had to offer. "Um, Alex?" he called across the lab.

Alex Vogel looked up shyly from his work station. "Doctor Beck? What is it that I can assist you with?"

He sighed in response, knowing that he didn't yet have Mark's consent to share the diagnosis. But in a situation like this, protocol seemed to vanish. "Uh, so, I contacted NASA earlier with some test results. They sent back a drug we don't have, but it's critical that we use it. Can you help me make it? It doesn't look too complicated... It's called Etoposide." He went to hand the paper with the information over.

After a quick search in the lab's drug dictionary, the chemist frowned. "I believe NASA made a mistake in selecting this drug. It has specific uses that do not fit anybody on this ship. What is it that you need to treat?"

Beck bit his lip and took a deep breath. "No, this is what we need to use. I checked twice, I did tests over, everything. NASA wanted to see if the increased radiation that Mark experienced would have had any permanent effects. And, uh, the outcome is just what they were worried about before the Ares program started. The radiation mutated his DNA, and- And so this is the one we need. Because he has cancer."

There was a moment of stunned silence. "I am very sorry, Doctor. We all know that you two are close. I reassure you, the drug will be completed as soon as possible, it is my top priority."

He nodded. "Thank you. I can come back to help later. But I promised I would go back after I saw you." With a small, thankful smile, he left the lab for the medical bay.

-page break-

Mark rolled onto his side to see Beck standing there, and failing to act like he hadn't just been staring at him. Luckily, he had finished his silent pity party about half an hour ago, so his eyes weren't all puffy and bloodshot.

"How are you feeling?" Beck realized how stupid it sounded the moment the words escaped his lips. He was pretty sure the answer was going to be something close to 'crappy,' with maybe a bit more severe of an expletive.  
"Fat."

Beck's head snapped up and he wondered how severely those drugs affected Mark's mental status. Mark was many things; but fat was not one of them. If anything, he looked like one of those poor emaciated kids on commercials for charities in Haiti and Ethiopia. "Those drugs really do kick in fast."

Mark shook his head and sat up against the wall. "I'm serious. Look at this honest to God food baby I'm sporting." He gripped at his abdomen and tried to jiggle it. While it looked fuller, it certainly didn't make him look fat.  
"Mark…"

"You can't even deny it! I'm getting chubby! Beck, you are turning me into a fatty pants!"

Beck had forgotten this deranged half of Mark's personality, and wasn't sure whether he wanted to inform Mark that he was delusional. He honestly had no idea whether he was serious or not.

"You're not fat. If anything, you're too thin."

Mark shrugged. "You asked how I felt, I answered. I may not look fat, but I feel fat."

Beck shook his head and resisted the urge to drop his face into his hands. "Scoot over."

Mark complied and Beck sat beside him. "What's up, doc?" Mark stated in a rather horrible impression of Bugs Bunny.

"Not really sure. We're in a rotating space ship. Up and down might not even apply here."

Mark rolled his eyes and chuckled until his ribs shifted, causing him to hiss and clutch the sheets so one of his favored swear words wouldn't leave his lips. "You had to go all nerdy on me didn't you, Beck? Such a dork."

Beck didn't respond. His eyes were on Mark's clenched fist. "How's the pain?"

"I'll survive. I'm like the ultimate survivor man. One of my first acts on earth should be to send a 'screw you' postcard to Les Stroud."

"Scale of one to ten? Do I need to up your pain meds?"

"Relax doc, I'm fine. Much better now that McDreamy is by my side." As he said it he let his hand lay on Beck's leg creepily.

Beck's face lit up and he slid out from under Mark's hand. Both since he thought Mark was high and because it surprised him how much he liked it.

"Well, um, uh-" He continued to blush as he stammered the reply. Even though he generally loved people, he didn't always do so well with being touched, especially when it was unexpected. It acted as a huge stressor, so the fact that he wasn't immediately anxious, and actually somewhat enjoyed it, made everything more confusing.

It was known to the entire crew that when Beck got nervous, he rambled. And often his monologues would focus on one of his seemingly few interests. So of course, in this case, medicine was his default. "I'm very glad you're feeling better. We are working on the medication for your treatments now, but in the meantime, our focus is on keeping you comfortable. Whatever you need, whatever helps. And as for the weight gain, that's really a good thing. But I think it's all fluid as of now. You really need to start eating more. Uh-"

He was brought back into the present by the feeling of slender fingers wrapping around his wrist. "You mean it? Whatever helps?"

Beck nodded. "Of course, yeah. Symptom management is pretty easy. And I mean that emotionally as well. No one expects for you to take it all on your own. We have anxiety medicine. And us, we're here for you. You're safe now. And I'm going to take care of you. Don't you worry about that."

"What's there to worry about, doc?" The IV stand beeper to indicate that the next dose of the strongest medication of the cocktail was on its way into the vein. "Its all good. You got this... Maybe- maybe just-" Against his will, Mark felt his eyelids flutter shut. "Just stay?"

Sympathetic tears pricked the backs of the doctor's eyes as he gently stroked the other man's hair away. "I will. I'm never leaving you again."


	3. Chapter 3

The team camaraderie returned quickly to normal. Psychologists at NASA had been encouraging Commander Lewis via email to take more time for the team to spend time together. Given the mission extension, their experiment schedule was much more relaxed than it would be, so neither Lewis or Beck, the type A's on board, felt guilty at all that the extra recreational time. It was in the back of all of their minds, but never spoken, that NASA could easily assign them new experiments. They were given the extra time to support Mark.

Occasionally, in the early days of Ares Three, their schedules would work out so that they could arrange to have their recreational time together. In those rare circumstances, the crew would watch a movie from one of their data collections over meal times. Luckily for them, backups of the hard drives were backed up on the ship's computer, meaning their entertainment wasn't all left on Mars. Today they settled on rewatching Jurassic Park.

If they chose to ignore glaring details, this was exactly like those times. But today, it was more of a matter of emotional support and distraction. Instead of the rec room that typically hosted movie nights, they were all crammed into the tiny medical bay, where Mark was getting his first round of chemotherapy.

The medicine wasn't as concentrated as it would be if it were made under normal circumstances. As a result, it needed to be given faster. The IV had to be placed in a large vein in his neck. The insertion was much more painful than he wanted to admit, but at that moment, treatment wasn't as bad as they were expecting. Beck knew that the worst of the symptoms wouldn't show up until after, most likely. Still, the rest of the crew was nervous for their crew mate.

"You know, what I don't understand," he started, trying to diffuse their tension. "Dinosaurs are pretty awesome, whatever type you're talking about. Especially a live one, in modern times? Serious wow factor, even before all the teeth and rampage. So why bother with the ones that wanna eat people? Pretty sure a park full of triceratops' would still be a big deal."

Vogel nodded. He was often the only one who had patience for this sort of commentary. "I do not think I would quite enjoy a theme park where the exhibits are higher on the food chain than myself. You Americans and your risky ideas of entertainment."

"Says the guy whose career revolves around explosives and poison," Beth adds in. "But yeah, I mean, you know what Chris here does for fun? There's nothing he won't jump off or out of."

"Guys, hey, shut up, this is the best part!" Rick interrupted. The rest of them groaned, knowing exactly what was coming. Somehow their pilot had never seen Jurassic Park until weeks into their mission. The first time he saw it, he made them rewind the scene with the lawyer being eaten off the toilet at least half a dozen times.

Half an hour after, the IV stand beeped. "Halfway finished," Beck promised. " How are you doing? Any side effects?"

The rest of the crew waited anxiously for an answer. "Uh, well, considering I'm not sprouting an extra head or something, I think Vogel did something right."

The chemist blushed and smiled, understanding that the sarcasm came as equal parts affection and reassurance that that everything would be okay. "I am very glad to hear that you are doing well."

The first side effects didn't show up until the next morning. The nausea and vomiting came as expected, and became less intense as the day went on. The only other symptom, a slight backache, was passed off as part of the healing process for the kidney laceration. Overall, the doctor was pleased. Until an exam two weeks after revealed a small, hard abdominal lump.

"Just go ahead and lay down flat," Beck instructed gently as he prepared the portable ultrasound machine. "Try to relax."

The commander looked up from her anxious pacing. She and the rest of the crew were allowed in the medical bay for moral support. "It's probably fluid, right? Why bother with an ultrasound for fluid?"

"Probably fluid," the doctor agreed. "But when I mentioned it, NASA wanted me to check that it wasn't that anything was spreading..." He looked down at his patient and was given a small, nervous nod.

It took a minute for the picture to develop. It took even longer for any of them to know what to say.

"So. Uh..." Rick stared at the fetus on the screen. "How're we supposed to explain that? Aliens?"

Beth nodded. "Definitely aliens." She looked at Chris expectantly.

"No, no, not quite. But there is an explanation. We didn't think it would happen, but, yeah, I guess it did?"

"Not to interrupt this riveting conversation, but would someone like to explain what the actual fuck is growing inside of me?"

All eyes fell on Beck. "You know how Ares One confirmed that the fossilized bacteria found on Mars weren't the only lifeforms? And how they speculated that some of those fossilized lifeforms could still have survived? There was one type, a parasite, that we think had the ability to hack more complex lifeforms and recreate the host's DNA, essentially forcing the host to become pregnant. My theory is, that's what happened here. Meaning I read the blood test wrong, and there is no cancer."

"Well..." Rick spoke first to break the uncomfortable growing silence. "Only person on an entire planet, still managed to get knocked up. Congrats, man."


	4. Chapter 4

_To: Space Biosciences Division  
Cc: Space Science and Astrobiology Division  
From:  
Subject: CREW MEMBER HEALTH UPDATE: Watney, Mark R._

 _Overall, steady improvement has been noted, about as well as could be expected. Daily urine samples have shown nearly complete healing of the kidney laceration that was a result of fractured ribs from the MAV launch. The ribs themselves are healed, and lingering pain can now be effectively treated with non-narcotics. In addition, blood sugar continues to fluctuate, but is starting to have a lessened range of results. We estimate that continuing with an approximately 3,000 calorie diet will eventually bring blood glucose back within normal range. Given gastrointestinal sensitivities were sustained from extended malnourishment, the majority of these calories come liquids (protein shakes and similar), and limited bland solids supplemented with both oral and IV vitamins, minerals, and electrolytes, before a more typical diet can be tolerated. We expect this to happen within the next few weeks.  
However, as previously stated, the patient has an excess of the hormone FSH, typically associated with testicular cancer. We produced the drug Etoposide in our labs, and treated according to protocol. However, two weeks into treatment, an abdominal mass was found as well. An ultrasound showed a humanoid fetus around six weeks of development rather than the expected fluid.  
We ran what labs we can with the limited supplies available, on both the patient's blood and on soil samples. We found parasitic life in both. We have more labs running, but the best theory is that these parasites force replication of the host's DNA, essentially forcing the host to become pregnant with their genetic twin. It also seems that, in this case, the parasite entered the host when the host ate crops grown in the soil that contained this parasite. When the current labs are finished, more details will come.  
We discussed the risks of carrying the pregnancy to term, and the available options. After several days of thought, the patient decided to continue with the pregnancy.  
Psychologically,_

Restating the facts had been easy. Reporting on the psychological state of his closest friend was a challenge that made Beck unbearably uncomfortable. It was a skill he managed delicately back in the hospitals he had used to work for, but in this case, it felt like a betrayal, a major intrusion into his crew member's private life. He stared at the computer screen, trying to gather his thoughts.

His instinct was to ask one of the more emotionally driven teammates for advice. Unfortunately, the entire crew was under orders to make sure he would take time off. A doctor who ran himself to the point of complete exhaustion would be of no help to anyone, Commander Lewis insisted. He had been writing the update when the rest of the crew finally thought he went to sleep.

In all honesty, psychological health went along, in this case, with physical. Meaning, it was as good as it could get. No one was surprised when Mark tried to hide the symptoms. Still, there were obvious tells that could not be ignored. Random quiet spells, panic attacks brought on by sudden noises, nightmares, intense separation anxiety... Luckily, the small vehicle made it hard to be left alone during waking hours. A second cot was brought into the medical bay so that someone could be there in case of a nightmare. The crew was kept on schedule of who would be there through the night. No one mentioned it, but it was obvious that Mark had the fewest nightmares when Chris was nearby.

Those key facts should have been easier to put into words. Frustrated, he turned back to the computer and tried to write. But only moments later, he was interrupted by the sound of retching coming from across the hall. It was six AM. Morning sickness, right on schedule.

Without thinking, Chris ran into the other room. Beth looked up from helping Mark with the airsickness bag. She shook her head. "I can handle this," she promised. "You go on back to bed."

"But-"

"Chris, listen to me," Beth said sternly. There was an edge to her voice unlike any he had heard before. She wasn't offering because she was worried. She was angry about something. "I can take care of this. You have to go." After several minutes of argument between the three of them, Chris sighed and left the room.

His worry wasn't coming from not trusting Beth. The entire crew had basic medical training, mostly for if something had happened to Beck. They never expected it to be because they had to offer care for so long.

Back inside the medical bay, Beth offered gentle encouragement through the vomiting cycle. It lasted another ten minutes before letting up in intensity. "Do you want to try taking some medicine?" she offered.

He nodded and struggled to sit upright. With Beth's help, he managed to swallow the pills with a few small sips of water. They new it would pass soon, but wanted to be careful with the fluids.

A moment later, the alarm on Beth's watch went off. Time for her to start work. She shrugged before turning it off. "I finished the next course change calculations last night. Couldn't sleep. You want to hang out in here for a while? We can watch some stuff from your files."

Mark perked up. "Yeah? Without anyone else, no bossy doctors, no one force feeding me?"

"Well, actually..." She smiled mischeviously as she pulled up an episode of Doctor Who on her laptop. "I figured out last night, we are back in range that internet communication is back in live time. So, how about this. Later on, when you're feeling a little better, if you finish one of those protein shakes, I can patch you in for a video chat with your parents."

His eyes lit up. "Beth? You can do that? You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." She grinned and pressed play. "I know they can't wait to see you."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm finished."

Beth looked up from her computer as Mark came in, proudly holding up an empty pouch of strawberry flavored protein shake. NASA had sent plenty of them with the resupply launch, and they were just over 1,000 calories each. Chris had wanted Mark to try drinking at least three each day, in addition to solid foods. Most days, he could barely stomach the thought, and got through one at most. But the morning's medicine, and Beth's promise, boosted his morale. Although the sweet, thick liquid still made him nauseous, he was more motivated than ever to try to recover.

Beth took the empty drink pouch and grinned. "That's fantastic! I'm proud of you! Now, lets call your parents, okay?"

The distance still made it difficult, but after a couple of attempts, she was able to patch a connection. "I'll give you some privacy," she offered, and left the room as history parents joined on the other end.

Mark slid into the chair and resisted grimacing. It was one of those days when random things just hurt to hurt, and he didn't need his parents to know about it. He looked up at the screen and offered a smile when Millie and Richard became visible. "Guess who's not dead?"

His mom just rolled her eyes in response and his father looked like he was about to get emotional. He definitely took from his mother's side; she had the same mischievous eyes and brown hair. Not to mention the smirk that made teachers all across his hometown cringe.

"Wild guess? You." She responded with a wide grin. Even his mom couldn't be sarcastic. "You look horrible. Like one of those thin French models."

"Guess my name should be handsome then. I'll tell Chris."

She brought her eyebrows together. "What?"

"Inside joke." He looked down at his hands and tried to think of something to turn the topic away from his health. He wanted at least three minutes of meaningless chatter before he had to break it to them that, somehow, they were going to be grandparents. "So, how's life on that big ball of idiots and global warming you call Earth?"

His father interjected before his mother, his hand subconsciously rubbing his balding head. "Fine. Although you're quite the celebrity now."

"It's a bit weird," his mother admitted. "I mean, the entire world knows that little goblin I shoved out of my vagina. Wait, this isn't being filmed, is it?" She softened after a minute. "But we're proud of you. So, so proud. You've always been so smart. Anyway, I know you hate the hallmark movie crap. How are your friends? What's new up there?"

"Their fine. Complete pains in the asses, but fine." He smirked when his father cringed at his language. Oh, if only his dear father could hear his journal… "So, I've actually got something to tell you guys."

His mom immediately gripped onto his father's arm and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. "What is it? Did you get some sort of weird Mars disease?"

"Well, some people think of it as a disease…"

His father's arm was about to lose circulation as his mother's bright red nails dug further into his arm. "Do you have a tumor? Is it cancer?"

"It's a growth of sorts, and I thought it was cancer, but it wasn't."

"Oh my God." His mother looks close to tears and he decides to just spit it out.

"I'm pregnant."

His dad drops his face into his hands and his mother gives him a glare that could melt Mars as a whole. "This is not the time for your stupid-"

He shakes his head. "I'm not kidding. I'm literally pregnant."

She raises an eyebrow and glares. "Mark Watney, I swear…"

"Mom. I'm not that dumb. I can even drag Handsome in here to prove it."

"Who's… Nevermind. Are you being serious with us? How did that happen? Do you have a secret ovary or something? I always thought you were a little hormonal for a boy… It would make way more sense if you had a vagina..."

Mark paled. "No. Mom, I don't have a vagina."

"Then how the hell did you get pregnant?"

"Well, when one person loves themselves very much…"

"Mark, I swear, I'm going to find some way to hit you if you don't tell me how my son, who was on a planet by himself, somehow got pregnant?!"

Meanwhile, in the small kitchen on the other side of the thin wall, the rest of the crew, including Commander Lewis, was struggling to hold back their laughter.

"Someone should help him," Alex managed in between bouts of breathlessness.

"You know biochemistry," Chris pointed out, trying to avoid what he knew was coming. "You go right ahead."

"No, no, he's right," Beth said, an icy hint to her voice. "Someone needs to help. Who better than the doctor?"

Chris squirmed in his seat. "Beth?" he asked tentatively. "You've been on edge with me lately. What's wrong?"

Alex and Rick looked on, ready for the drama. Alex had been the one to notice first, and Rick was the one to make her chocolate mug cake and cheer her up the previous night. "I wanted to do this privately," she murmured. "But Chris, I see it. We all do. How you two look at each other, how you are so in synch. When he was gone, you took it the hardest. What I'm saying is, I think you need to think about who you actually have feelings for. I have enough self-worth to know I deserve that. I'm not mad. I just want you to be happy, even if that's not with me."

Chris nodded and looked her in the eyes. "Thank you, Beth. I understand. Um-"

"Yeah, uh, before you drop that cheesy line about still being friends, still hanging out?" Rick interrupted. "Small living space. Kinda goes without saying."

They both laughed. "No, I think Chris was going to go help with the video chat." Beth turned to Chris. "I'll see you later?"

He nodded. "Of course. Thank you for understanding."

He walked until artificial gravity wasn't strong enough, and then floated into the computer room.

"He's not crazy," Chris insisted as soon as he knew the Watney's could see him. "I mean, that's a lie. But the pregnancy thing isn't. It's basically a parasite he picked up that's, well, incubating…"

Millie and Richard froze, shocked but taking it well. As well as could be expected anyway.

"Well…" Richard cleared his throat and spoke awkwardly. "Your mother has always wanted a grandbaby."

"And we are doing everything possible to make sure you're son and the baby are healthy," Chris promised. He was nervous. He wanted them to like him. "We have done several tests and scans, and the baby is small, but healthy. We're doing an amniocentesis tomorrow, just in case. But as of now, everything is okay."

Millie nodded gratefully. "Alright, someone call MTV. Can you see it? Martian and Pregnant, the new guilty pleasure trash."


End file.
